


The King Has Lost His Crown

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: When Illya fires everyone at Taste, Napoleon decides it's time to take matters into his own hands.  Sending Illya away on vacation, he discovers that running a restaurant isn't all it's crack up to be.





	The King Has Lost His Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparky955](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/gifts).



It always started with a questioning _peep?_ Then, another and another until the world seemed to explode with their songs.  They sang to attract mates, to secure territories and to drive Illya Kuryakin just a bit crazier.

He sat bolt upright in bed. “Will you all just shut the fuck up!” he shouted at the window.  The birds didn’t listen, or perhaps they couldn’t hear him over their own calls.

Napoleon rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t think they care, Illya and I don’t think I’ve heard you swear more than a half dozen times.”

“Stay tuned and give me a gun. I will make them care.”

Napoleon smiled at that. “Why don’t you lie down and I’ll give you something to make you sleepy?”

“I’m not in the mood, Napoleon.” Illya lay back down and turned his back to Napoleon.

“Not even for—“

“What part of not being in the mood don’t you understand, Napoleon?” Illya snapped. “Leave me alone.”  That made Napoleon pause and a moment later Illya rolled over and sighed.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just so tired and I can’t sleep with all that racket.”

“It’s okay. I was going to mention those trunks under your eyes.”

“Trunks?”

“Too big for bags.” Napoleon got out of bed and walked to a CD player.  He punched the on button and the room filled with the sound of rain.  “Why don’t you just relax?”

“Can’t. I’m awake now.”

“Make a bargain with you. Just stay in bed until I’m out of the shower.”

“Okay.” Illya sighed and pulled a pillow over his head.

 

Napoleon purposefully lingered in the shower and by the time he emerged from the hot steamy room, Illya was sprawled out, dead to the world. Napoleon nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He walked downstairs, carefully avoiding the cats as he went. He’d learned to be careful around them, especially in the morning. 

He picked up the paper from the porch and carried it into the kitchen. Napoleon had just gotten coffee on when there was a soft knock on the door.

Napoleon opened it and grinned. “Matt, since when do you knock?”

“This morning, _Cara_ , it pays _s_ _essere molto attento_.”

“To be extra careful? Why?”

“He... Chef, he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“ _Un minuto._ ”  Matt went to the door and gestured.  Rocky, Henry, and Rand came in, each looking a bit fearful.  “Chef, he fired us last night.”

“What?” Napoleon nearly dropped the coffee pot.  “Illya?  He couldn’t.”

“He could and he did.”

“Okay, I think we all need some coffee and to talk.” Napoleon looked up towards the ceiling.  “But not here.  Let’s go over to Vinea.”

 

Napoleon flipped on the lights to the small private room and busied himself making coffee as the others sat. He waited until the coffee had finished and each person had a cup in front of him.

“Okay, so what happened?”

Matt looked from Rocky to Rand and then to Napoleon. “We... we don’t know.”

“I do,” Henry said, softly.

“And you were going to keep it to yourself?”

“At the time, I didn’t think much about it. We’ve been having trouble with a shipper.  We order one thing, they send something else, usually more expensive than what we ordered and always at the last minute, so we don’t have any choice but use it.  Then the dish machine started making a funny noise.”

“The new one?”

“New machine, same old noise.” Henry traced a circle on the table with his finger.  “Then we had a patron complain because the flowers in the restaurant aggravated his asthma and claimed that Chef did that on purpose because he didn’t like him.    Someone else didn’t like our catsup and wanted us to go out and buy the kind they wanted. Someone else had a cow because she didn’t know veal was beef, no pun intended.  The whole night, it was one thing after another.”

“I guess we weren’t helping...” Rocky muttered. “Everything was going wrong up front.  Spilled beverages, wrong entrees... if Michelin had been in, it would have cost us a star, at least.  And Roxanne over booked... the girls served the wrong drinks to the wrong people.”  He sighed.  “It was just one of those nights.”

“And every complaint ended with Illya,” Napoleon murmured.

“ _Si_ ,” Matt said sadly.  “Once, I was trying to rescue a sauce that had broken.  Then there was a noise in the storage locker and a shelf had fallen.  We lost a month’s worth of product.”

Napoleon sighed and stared at his coffee as one by one, each man offered another, seemingly minor, but contributing factor to Illya’s eventual snap.

“I’d never seen him that angry. I thought he was going to break something or someone.”

“Illya would never do that. He’s too dangerous and he knows it.  He keeps it all here.”  Napoleon tapped his chest.  He sipped his coffee and nodded.  “And here is what we are going to do.”

*****

“A vacation? Are you out of your mind?”  Illya resisted the urge to rip out his hair.  He was so angry and so frustrated.  No one seemed to hear him. 

“No, but you are. Firing the staff of Taste?”

“I’ll find better people.”

“Now listen to yourself. Those people are your family.  They love you and you love them.  Maybe not so much at the moment, but it’s true.”

Illya turned away, scowling. “I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“The place would fall apart without me.”

“We’ll never know unless you leave.” That made Illya turn.  “Illya, I’m serious.  You are a raw ball of nerves.  You are going to do more damage to the restaurant and your reputation by staying.  Take a week and go to the City or go to the coast.  Go someplace and just sleep, eat, and rest.”

“What about you?”

“I’m staying here. It’s the only way I can be assured that you will rest, since, gauging from this morning,  I obviously can’t take my hands off you.”

“I said I was sorry about that,” Illya snapped, then he dropped his gaze. “Maybe you are right.  Maybe some time away from here is just what I need.”

 

****

Illya carried his bag into the room and dropped it just inside the door. He glanced around at his home away from home for the next few days and made a face.  It was large and spacious with a seating area complete with a sofa, two chairs, a coffee table and fireplace.  The TV was just to the left of the fireplace.  There was a table and chairs just to the left side of the balcony.

He walked over to the sliding glass door and opened it. Cool salty air blew in and he closed his eyes as it whispered across his face.  As much as he loved his home in Jackson, there was something healing in the sea air. 

He left the door open a crack and walked to the bed. Sitting on the edge, it met with his approval.  Not too hard or too soft. 

He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Hello?” Perhaps it was ego on his part, but Illya thought Napoleon already sounded lonely.

“I’m here.”

“Is the room okay?”

“It is fine, thank you.”

“Great. Get some rest and we will see you in a few days.”

 _Or not_. “Okay.”

“Love you.”

“You, too.” And Illya cradled the phone. This was a mistake and he knew it.  Taste would explode without him there to deal with all the crises and day-to-day crap.  Still, he guessed that they would just have to find that out for themselves.  He put out the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the front door, drew the curtains, stripped and climbed into bed.

Arguably, these were the softest sheets he’d ever experienced. At that, Illya smiled, his first one in many days and happily drifted to sleep.

 

“Matt, where are the shipping confirmations for two weeks ago?” Napoleon was unloading a box of produce and none of it seemed familiar.

“That’s the guy we were talking about. Chef ordered Japanese eggplant, long beans and pea vines so that he could do an Asian feature.”

“I see okra, some black kind of mushroom and something that looks like celery root.”

“Jicama, I think,” Rand said from his position at the stove. “You eat it raw.”

Matt brought the paperwork to Napoleon and he whistled.   “Holy crap, is this guy for real?”

“He is, but we are at a disadvantage in that he is the only person who will supply to the area.”

Napoleon pursed his lips. “Hmm, give me a minute.”

He walked into the office and picked up the phone. It took him a moment to recall the number, but when he did he punched it in and waited.

“Henderson.”

Napoleon smiled at the gruff voice. Sam was a member of the acting troupe Napoleon belonged to.  They had bonded over a couple bottles of wine and became fast friends.  “Hey, Luigi. I gotta meatball for you,” he said in his worst Italian accent.

“Napoleon! What a surprise.  What’s going on?”

“You know that I’m partnered with Taste.”

“And Taste’s lead chef, yeah, go on.”

“One of our distributors is being a real piece of work. I’d like to go around him.  Who would you suggest?”

“For delivery here? There’s a new company out of Volcano.  They are small, but we have liked what we’ve gotten.  They tend to go local and that is always an attraction.  You want their number?”

“I would love their number.”

He exchanged a few more minutes of small talk with his fellow actor and finished with, “Hey, you need to come to dinner. Bring Shirley with you.”

“Okay, that would be fun.”

“How about Friday?”

“We’ll be there.”

“Great, and, Sammy, thanks for the help.”

“Hey, anything to help out a friend and a local business. We need to stick together.  There’s nothing worse that someone trying to strong arm us into something.”

“You got that right, my friend.” Napoleon hung up the phone.  “Matt?”

“ _Si_?”

“Can we box that shipment back up and return it?”

“He won’t give us our money back. Chef has already tried.  He said that we forget what we ordered from him.”

“Can you do anything with it?”

Matt pursed his lips and then smiled. “Of course, _cara,_ I am a chef.”

“You are a godsend!” Napoleon hugged him and checking the number on the pad, dialed it.

“Volcano Produce. Shelly speaking.”

“Hello, Shelly, Napoleon Solo here. I’m with Taste.”  At the silence on the phone, he asked. “Hello?”

A difference voice came on the line, this time a man’s voice. “Just what did you say to my sister to make her start crying?”

“Only that I’m Napoleon Solo from Taste.” There was another silence.  “I’m going to assume you’re not crying.  What would it take to get us set up as a customer?”

“C-c-c-customer? Taste?”

“Yes, we are unhappy with our supplier and I hear that you are the person to talk to.”

A half hour later, Napoleon hung up the phone and started whistling as he walked into the dining room.

“You’re in a good mood, Mr. S.” Rocky looked away from wiping down the windows.

“May I ask why you are washing the windows?”

“It’s Tuesday.” Rocky looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.   

“And your day off.”

“The restaurant has to be cleaned.”

“That’s what cleaning services are for.”

“Chef didn’t like the job the last one did.”

“So he’s making you come in on your day off to clean? That tightwad little Russian...”  Muttering, Napoleon headed back to the office.  Running a restaurant was a piece of cake.

 

*****

 

Illya sipped his drink and stared out the window at the stormy coast. Waves crashed against the rocks and it made him wish he was down there, feeling the spray on his face and the pounding in his bones.  Then he turned to set the glass down and winced at the pull in his back.  He’d spent much of the last couple of days sleeping.  Now rested, he was bored.  The last few years of his life had pretty much been at a dead run, first trying to catch up with the people in his class.  Then he had to establish himself, then the restaurant and once Taste took off, it was the battle to keep it at its peak, always striving for that little bit extra that raised them to the top.

He was proud of what he had accomplished, but not always the way he did it. He drove his people hard, going through servers at an alarming rate.  Those that persevered were well paid and amply compensated, but along the line, Illya had lost his sense of fun.  He’d gotten so obsessed with the prize, that he’d forgotten the quest.

Maybe Napoleon had been right, although Illya would never tell him that. His lover’s ego was already far too large for such an admission.  Illya looked over at the phone and sighed.   Part of him wanted to pick up the phone and call, begging Napoleon to join him.  Another part, mostly his pride, kept him from making the call.  And as much he knew that, Illya couldn’t make himself reach for the phone.

Instead, he turned on his heel and snatched up his jacket.   He grabbed his wallet and room key, then headed out into the night.

The town wasn’t so big that you needed a map to get around, so Illya just got behind the wheel of his truck and drove, eventually pulling into the parking lot of a restaurant. Even though it was a weeknight, there was a fair amount of vehicles in the lot and that was always a good sign.

The entry to the restaurant seemed dimmed until you drew up closer and then Illya was surprised at how light it really was. There was more than adequate light to read the menu.  It was fairly basic, but he was hungry and not all that particular.  It would just be nice to eat someone else’s food for a change.

The woman who greeted him reminded him a little of Stella and Celeste. She led him to a booth and he slid into it.

“I hope you enjoy your meal this evening.” Her voice had a trace of Southern twang to it.

“Thank you. I’m sure I will.”  She handed him a menu and that’s when Illya realized she was flirting with him.  He smiled and nodded.  “What do you recommend?”

She leaned close enough for him to smell her perfume. “The fish special and my phone number.”

Illya grinned at that. “I’m flattered, to say the least, but I am perhaps thirty years your senior and very married.”

She smiled sadly. “Oh, well, one of these days.”  She started to walk away.  “Wine list?”

“Please.”

“Don’t worry, she does that with everyone.” The waiter set down a tray of pickled vegetables and Illya felt his interest pick up. 

“It’s a dangerous habit.” He selected a carrot stick and bit into it.  It had just the right balance of sweet and tart.  It was crisp, but not overly chewy.  Illya was impressed.

“Which is why if you’d said yes, there would have been four or five guys that would have been your shadows tonight.”

“Good to know. So, the fish special, how is it prepared?”

“No idea. Hang on a minute.”  The waiter walked up to the pass through  “Hey, Chuck, guy here wants to know how you do the special.”

A moment later, a man wearing a stained apron and chef’s jacket came out and walked over to Illya’s table. Illya was aware that they were now the focus of the restaurant.

“You the one who wants to know about the fish?”

Illya smiled and nodded, “Yes, please.”

“I sauté it with a little vermouth and sherry, then serve it with olives. I call it a fish martini.”

“I’m intrigued. Have you also tried capers?”

“I was afraid it might make it too salty.”

The next thing Illya knew, he was in the kitchen, laughing and cooking with Chuck. And for the first time in a very long time,  he was having fun.

*****

“What do you mean the bathroom toilet is stopped up?”

Rocky adjusted his apron, self consciously. No one had thought to pick up their dry cleaning until it was too late.  They had been able to get together enough linens for the tables and guests, but the rest weren’t available.  “Illya thinks it’s roots.  He has the plumber coming on Tuesday.”

“And what do we do until Tuesday?”

“We’ll just have to deal with one.” Napoleon stopped.  “Is that legal?  I mean, for us?”

Rand shrugged his shoulders. “That would be a Chef question.  Oh, and the salamander is down... again.”

“We have a sick newt?”

Rand looked pained. “It’s a sort of oven.  You use it to grill or caramelize the surface of something.”

“Can it be fixed?”

“Don’t know. Chef just usually wiggles something.”

“I bet he does.” Napoleon got up from behind the desk. There was a pain at the base of his neck that was steadily crawling up and across his skull.  “All right, point me to it.  I used to be able to hot wire an engine.  Hopefully that will be of some help.”

“When did you hot wire cars?” Rand was interested now.

“A long time ago. Why doesn’t Illya write this stuff down?”

“Don’t know that it’s ever occurred to him.”

“Well, that stops now. Henry, my man, take notes.  We are going to fix the lizard.”

“Salamander.”

“That as well.”

****

Illya stretched out all his limbs and there was plenty of bed.  There were no cats and no Napoleon.  The first few days, that had been nice, but he was starting to miss his chaos. He glanced over at the clock.  It was still early and they would be wrapping up the last service.  Impulsively, he reached for the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Kitchen!” A strange voice answered. In the background, Illya could hear shouting.

“That’s not right. Push the other one!  Not that one the other one!”  That voice sounded like as very stressed Napoleon.

“Which other one?” That was Henry and there was cussing in Italian.  That had to be Matt.

“Where’s my roulade?”

“Wherever you left it,” Rand shouted back.

“Where the fire extinguisher?” Rocky sounded near to tears.

“We have water in the hall and no ice at the bar. Come on, people!” Stella didn’t sound happy.

“Order up!” Roxanne was in the kitchen?

Illya eased the receiver back down and smiled. They did need him and they had finally realized it.   Illya rubbed his eyes and then flopped back on the pillow.  He would sleep well tonight and tomorrow he would check out and head back home.  Hopefully they wouldn’t burn down his restaurant in the meantime.

****

Napoleon looked up from the paper. “Okay, so that’s what we do if the dish machine breaks again.  What about the ovens?”

“Same place, but we have back up ovens, in case.” Matt rubbed his eyes wearily. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Propane?”

“PG&E up here.”

Napoleon scribbled down information as fast as he could.   “What about rug cleaners?”

“Johnson’s is the best, but they aren’t cheap.”

“Money doesn’t matter at the moment. This is more of a guide than actual rules.  I just want my bases covered.”

There was a knock at the kitchen door. “Volcano Produce!”

“Already?” Matt went to let the delivery service in. “ _Buongiorno_.” 

 “We try to deliver within 14 hours of ordering.”  The man carried a crate in and placed it on a metal table and looked expectantly at Matt.

“Yes?”

“We thought you’d like to check it first. It’s our policy that we don’t leave stuff behind that you didn’t want or order.”

Matt looked over at Napoleon. “ _Cara_ , I have died and gone to heaven.”

“I hope.” Napoleon watched Matt open the box.  He took out each piece, eyeing it critically.  This was the part of shopping with Illya Napoleon hated.  He could do the rest of the shopping, have time for a coffee and Illya would still be in produce, testing the vegetables and fruits.

Matt held up a carrot, or what looked like a carrot. It was purple.  “What is this?”

“A purple carrot. There are some farmers who have been experimenting.  So far they’ve developed purple, red and yellow varieties.  They all taste like carrots, but the look is very different.  And a red and white beet.”

Matt began to grin. “And you can guarantee such things?”

“We can.”

Napoleon clapped the delivery man on the shoulder. “I think you have made my chefs very happy.”  He walked over to the phone and searched through the stacks of papers until he found the piece he was looking for.  He dialed the number and waited.

First he got an automated voice asking him to hold on and reassuring him that his business was valued. As he held, he watched Matt interact with the man.  The redhead kept nodding and grinning. 

After five minutes, just as Napoleon was ready to hang up, there was a click and the phone went dead.

“Son of a... he let the curse trail off. He called again and this time punched a different button.  Again, he was assured his call was important.  It took two more tries, but he finally got a human voice.

“Big Valley Distribution. How may I help you?”

“You need to get your automated system looked at. It dropped me three times.”

“We hear that a lot. What do you want to order?”

“Nothing. I was calling to let you know that we wouldn’t be ordering from you any longer.”

“Yeah, okay.” And the person hung up on him. He looked at the receive and then over at Matt.  “How do they stay in business?”

Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Their loss.  We did a couple thousand dollars worth of business with them.”

“Not anymore.” Napoleon wrote a check and handed it to the delivery man.  “Here you go.”

“What’s this?” The man honestly looked confused.

“Payment is due upon delivery, isn’t it?”

“Ah... sure, I guess. Usually we just bill you at the end of the month, but you can pay now.”

“Take this and have your manager call me.” Napoleon watched as the check was carefully tucked into a pocket and the button flap closed over it.

“I will, thanks.”

“No, thank you.”

Napoleon and Matt watched the man leave. “Do you want to call the manager of Big Valley Distributors and cancel or shall I?” Napoleon asked.

Matt shook his head, sending his red afro into blur of movement. “Better than that, let Chef do it.” 

****

The roads became achingly familiar the closer he got to home and Illya had to smile. How many places he’d called home in his life and yet this one, as humble as it was, seemed to be the most important.  He braked for a right turn and waited for the traffic to finishing turning. 

This time of the year, the hills were golden, mostly dried grass and weeds, while the vines stood out brilliant green and the numerous oaks a stark black against them. He loved this color palate and wondered why he felt so comfortable with the openness and the rolling hills of the Sierra foothills.  It certainly wasn’t what he’d once thought of when the word California popped up.  Once it had been a jumble of opulence, beach bums and bikined women.  Now Illya knew it was so much more.

He passed the turn off for Amador City and then the one for Sutter Creek. Now, he could drive the road in his sleep.  It was just a few more stop signs and couple of traffic lights and he was pulling into downtown Jackson.  Locals waved at the familiar black truck as he passed and Illya smiled contentedly.  He knew why Jackson felt so much like home.  It was where he was comfortable, accepted and belonged.

He pulled into the parking lot of Taste and stopped in front of their tiny garage. The truck never fit in there, but that was okay.  They didn’t get much snow in the winter and it left the garage free for Illya’s motorcycles.  There was an unfamiliar vehicle parked in front of taste, but Illya didn’t think much of it as Vinea was open and the store was bustling.  Some people just preferred to walk the short distance rather than trying to cram into one of the spaces in front of the wine shop.

Illya grabbed his suitcase from the front seat and walked into the house.

“Hello? Napoleon?”  At the silence that greeted him, Illya almost smacked himself in the head.  Of course, Vinea was open.  Napoleon would be there.

Twin choruses of meows made him stop and kneel. “Hello, you two.  Were you easy on Napoleon?”

Moutard looked at him as if he’d lost his mind and Buerre Noir rolled over onto her back for stomach rubs.  Illya grinned and gave both of them a few pets. 

Sighing, he decided it was time to bite the bullet and he left by the kitchen door to make the short walk to Taste. It struck him as odd that the front door was open and he winced when he realized the menu was a few days old.  He would need to get a new one posted.  The truck proclaimed it was a plumbing service from Sacramento.  That was odd.

He walked into the dining area of the restaurant and was happy to see that it looked normal. Tables were neatly set and surfaces gleamed.  He didn’t care for the scent of the polish being used, but that was just him. 

There was noise coming from the back of the room and he headed in that direction.

“What do you mean you can’t fix it?” Napoleon sounded on the verge of tears.

“These old buildings, the plumbing is a mess. We’re gonna have to gut it and re-do all of it.  It’s going to be sixty days max.” 

“What? That’s impossible.”  Napoleon’s voice went up an octave

“No, this plumbing is impossible.”

Illya decided it was time to step in. “And this is why we call a local plumbing company to fix our pipes.  They understand these old building in a way a city plumber couldn’t.”

Napoleon spun at Illya’s voice and the look of joy and relief on his face made Illya nearly burst into laughter. “You will replace the pipes as you found them and we will pay you for your time.”

The plumber eyed Illya suspiciously. After all, this would have meant a major retro fit and thousands of dollars for his company.  Illya could see it written all over his face. “And who are you?”

“The co-owner and apparently the voice of reason.”

“Whatever.”

Illya smiled. “You know what, just go now.”

The man looked as if he was going to challenge Illya, but thought better of it. Illya walked away and Napoleon was right on his heels.

Once they had the privacy of the kitchen, Napoleon grabbed Illya in a bear hug. “I don’t know of when I’ve been happier to see you.”  A kiss, long and lingering, followed. 

“It’s good to be home,” Illya admitted and then turned at the applause. Rand, Henry, and Matt were standing there.  “You are all still here?”

“I needed them, Illya.”

“So do I. It wouldn’t be the same place without them.”

There were immediately hugs and kisses.

“Oh, my god, is this one of those touchie feely places?” the plumber asked from the safety of the swinging door.

Illya grinned. “Yes, it is and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

 

Epilogue

 

The fan blew cool against the sheen of sweat on his chest and Illya luxuriated in it. Napoleon was stretched out beside him, chest heaving and sighing. 

“That was something else, Kuryakin. You need to go away more.”  He let his head roll to the side and grinned goofily at his lover.  “Oh, I missed you.”

“Remember that tomorrow when you wake up sore and stiff.”

“Right back at you.”

“But I’m always stiff and sore.” Illya propped up on his elbows for a drink of wine and then passed the glass over to Napoleon.  “This might go well with the guinea hen we have coming in this weekend.”

“So you like the new produce company?”

“I’m worried that they won’t be able to keep up with us, but for the most part, yes. It was a delight to give Big Valley the heave ho.  I wish I could have seen that idiot’s face.”

“Matt thought you’d like that honor.” Napoleon drained the glass and set it on his nightstand.

“He was right.” Illya rolled onto his side.  “Why do you put up with me?”

“After all these years, it’s easier to do with you than without you.” Napoleon plumped up his pillows, then reached out to touch Illya’s face.  “In fact, the thought of being without you terrifies me.”

“Yet you sent me away.”

“You needed the break. There are a lot of people who count on you, not just your employees, but the people of Jackson and your diners.  And I knew you’d come back.”

“Why’s that?”

Moutard and Buerre Noir jumped up on the bed and immediately walked over Napoleon to get to Illya. “Two of your favorite things live here.”

Illya smiled. “Three of my favorite things, you mean.”

“By the way, while you were gone, I did a little home renovating.”

“Oh?”

“I replaced the windows with double panes. The birds won’t be waking you up in the morning.”

“What did I ever do without you?”

“Let’s hope neither of us ever has to find out.” And with that, Napoleon shut off the light and they all settled down for a nice long nap.

 

 


End file.
